


Into the Dragon's (TV) Den

by bendingsignpost



Series: Tumblr Fic [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Contracts, Dragon Castiel (Supernatural), Geek Castiel (Supernatural), Geek Dean Winchester, Lawyer Crowley (Supernatural), Porn Star Dean Winchester, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost
Summary: Dean's had a lot of strange gigs over the years (stripping, escorting, porn, etc), but having adragonas a patron is a bit weird, even for him.





	Into the Dragon's (TV) Den

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alessariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alessariel/gifts).



> alessariel  asked:  
> Dragon/PornStar AU for the writing thing?

“Just to be clear,” Dean says with a mounting sense of unreality, “you know I’m a porn star, not a prince, right?”

Beside Dean, his lawyer Crowley stiffens almost imperceptibly, turning his gaze on Dean in an understated but thoroughly understood look of  _What the hell are you doing to us, Winchester?_

Across the table, however, the dragon simply nods slowly, carefully, as if any hasty motion could unfold him out of his compressed humanoid form. “Including royalty as part of a hoard is traditional because of the status involved,” the dragon Castiel responds. “That’s evolved over time.”

“You mean, that Vegas dragon throws a giant party packed with porn stars, and now we’re the new must-have toy of the season?”

“What my client  _means_ to say,” Crowley begins, only to cut off when Castiel raises a hand. 

“You were at Gabriel’s party,” Castiel says to Dean, only to Dean. “You tell me.”

“As a stripper, not as a life-sized tchotchke.”

Crowley flips open his folder on the table and slides it pointedly in front of Dean, his finger pointing to one line in particular. And true, Dean’s looked over the whole contract, but that doesn’t make it any less surreal. 

Still, that’s one hell of a stipend, all on top of free room and board. The complementary access to healing magic would also be nice; even with decent screening in the company, Dean’s been around long enough to get itchy down below from time to time. Still, location is an issue, even with Castiel’s promise to supply transportation to shoots. 

“Before I agree to anything, I’d like a tour of the rest of the hoard,” Dean adds. 

“Of course,” Castiel replies, “but only you. Your representation can stay at the gate.”

“I won’t sign anything without him,” Dean warns. 

Subtly, Crowley preens, but he also shoots Dean another look. “And naturally, accepting a  _tour_  of the hoard in no way equates to agreement to join that hoard, regardless of how my client refers to it. My client will be free to leave the hoard at the conclusion of the tour, or at any point thereafter, until or unless he is bound by the stipulations of a signed, legal contract.”

Again, Castiel slowly nods. “Of course.”

“Cool,” Dean says. “When can I visit?”

  


  


  


The hoard is one hell of a road trip away. Crowley flies out like the asshole he is, leaving Dean more or less to his own schedule, driving cross-country. Still, Dean swings by his lawyer’s hotel on the way to the complex housing Castiel’s hoard. It doesn’t fail to amuse, leaving Crowley out in the parked car with the windows rolled down, like a dog in an expensive suit. 

“Agree to nothing,” Crowley warns. “No promises, nothing close to one.”

“Is it safe to eat any food offered?” Dean checks. 

“Only what’s offered,” Crowley says. “Don’t even touch anything else.”

“What if I have to take a dump?”

“No idea. Let’s not risk it.” Then, giving Dean one final once over, he tugs at the collar of Dean’s shirt. “All right, golden boy. Time to make us or break us.”

With a wink and a world of false confidence, Dean slides out of the car and walks down the driveway to the high gate set into the even higher stone wall. It’s all clearly meant to keep humans out, unless there’s something above to screen for airborne visitors. 

As instructed, Dean scans in on the security pad. It recognizes his face and voice, then learns his thumb print. The metal gate swings open. 

Pulse racing, Dean enters. 

The grounds are immense, enough that Dean immediately regrets leaving the car. Still, once the gate swings shut behind him, he can’t risk the offense of leaving. He presses on, strolling down a road through what is effectively a tamed forest. A captured one, at least. He could swear he sees a deer run off at one point. 

The forest gives way to a long pavilion, the covered area marking a boundary into a more traditional, tamer section of land. These are gardens, well-groomed, interspersed with fountains and sculptures. Are the gardeners part of the hoard? Dean can’t be the first person this dragon has wanted to keep. Gardeners, cooks, all that. The world’s best butlers. Dragons probably snatch up the cream of the service industry, right? 

Between the gardens and the mansion itself, a wide space of stone tiles yawns. The number of lamps and lights above head immediately catches Dean’s attention. Peering more closely, he realizes what’s strange about those light bulbs: they’re heat lamps. 

Looking around with that new context, he has to wonder: how big is Castiel in his dragon form if all this is for basking? Is this where Castiel entertains dragon guests? Where dragon guests land? Or is the landing area around back, more torn up and therefore less showy? 

Still seeing no one else, human or dragon, Dean makes it all the way up to the tall double doors set into the mansion’s facade. Dean rings the bell before shifting to the side, checking himself over in the reflection of the glass panes framing the door. A little sweaty, a little flushed, but the sexy kind of disheveled. Dean adjusts his collar back the way Crowley had put it, and, yeah, good play on the collarbones. 

To Dean’s immense surprise, Castiel opens the door himself. 

To Dean’s even more immense surprise, Castiel is dressed informally. 

No longer in the ill-fitting suit that made his humanoid form appear all the more temporary, Castiel answers the door in jeans and a blue hoodie. He looks comfortable, at home. He opens the door with a smile. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hi. Uh, hello,” Dean says, weirdly tongue-tied. 

Head tilting to the side, Castiel looks past him. “Did you walk all the way in?”

“I did want a look around,” Dean answers.

Castiel nods. “Of course. Would you like to see inside first, or continue the perimeter?”

“Inside?” Dean asks, and Castiel gestures him in, closing the door politely behind him. Much like in Gabriel’s set-up, the rooms are massive. Distinctly unlike Gabriel’s, these rooms are tastefully decorated, reminding Dean more of a museum than, say, a strip club. 

There’s the obligatory sculptures and paintings, but then come the rooms with wall hangings and gorgeous but clearly well-used furniture. Castiel shows him to the library with great pride. He shows Dean even further into the back, where there are books kept under glass, requiring a gloved touch for each delicate page turn. 

“Are these all for show?” Dean asks. “I couldn’t read all this in a lifetime.”

“I read very quickly,” Castiel answers. “I’m not finished with the newer section yet.”

“Newer?” Dean asks.

With an almost bashful tilt to his head and hang of his shoulders, Castiel leads him through a wooden door set between the walls of shelves, and it’s like walking into a library all over again: this time, a normal one. Blander shelves, brighter covers, and way more paperbacks. 

“Is this where you keep your Harry Potter?” Dean teases. 

Castiel simply nods. “What you consider contemporary could be a classic in a century,” he explains. “If I like it, it’s worth keeping. There’s nothing more annoying than realizing a favorite book went out of print fifty years ago.”

“Huh.” He makes a very long-lived point. “Yeah, guess so.”

“You’d be welcome to read anything in here, of course,” Castiel adds. “It’s simply not a display section.”

“So there are living areas. I was kinda starting to wonder.”

“Some areas are more for display than others,” Castiel admits, and he looks oddly sheepish for a dragon. It’s the first sign of true personality Dean’s seen out of him. 

“Show me your favorite,” Dean says. Belatedly, he remembers his manners. “Uh, please.”

Castiel visibly considers it for a moment before showing Dean back through the display library. They travel down a side hall Dean hadn’t seen yet, also decked out in art work, and then they walk into what is unquestionably the lobby of a movie theater. 

It doesn’t smell of popcorn and the carpet is way cleaner, but beyond that? Totally a movie theater. Framed posters decorate the walls, some faded with age, some newer. When Dean peers closer at Castiel’s invitation, most are signed. Throughout the room are glass display cases, each sporting movie merch from a nearby poster. 

There are real Batman suits. Lord of the Rings costumes and blades. The painted backdrops from the original Star Wars trilogies. Props and masks from slasher films Dean recognizes. Aged outfits from more classic films than Dean can name. Fortunately, each has a little display plaque to help him out. 

Dean doesn’t quietly geek out. 

Dean  _loudly_ geeks out. 

“Oh my god,” he repeats more times than a teenager texting. “Oh my  _god_ , look at that.”

When he turns back to Castiel, the dragon is grinning widely, his slitted eyes widened to an almost human pupil. “I like movies,” Castiel says. “Do you like TV?”

If possible, Dean lights up even harder. 

Castiel leads him through a truly badass home theater, complete with huge recliners that look like heaven. They pop out on the other side, and Dean makes of noise of rapture that Crowley would kill him for making when not being recorded. 

“Are those what I think they are,” Dean says, moving toward the glass case with a slack jaw and absolute awe. “Holy shit, they are.”

Castiel puts his hand over the plaque. “From what episode.”

“The pilot. Holy shit.” Dean stares at them in a state of lust that, again, Crowley would kill him for wasting. “Those are Dr. Sexy’s original cowboy boots.”

Smiling, Castiel drops his hand. 

They are. They’re fucking original. 

“Also,” Castiel adds. He gestures Dean around and indicates a hole in the side of the display case. Dean looks as Castiel flips on a light in the case and there, reflected through a series of mirrors, holy shit, the soles are autographed.

Dean covers his mouth. 

He looks at Castiel. “Okay, so. I know I’m not supposed to make any promises or agreements or whatever on the tour, but contract aside, I would totally do a private strip or toy show for you if you let me wear those.”

This is a lie. 

Dean would let Castiel rail him in the ass just to hold those boots, let alone wear them. 

Even without that piece of knowledge, Castiel’s pupils fight to eclipse the blue of his irises. His nostrils flare. 

“Just putting that out there,” Dean adds. 

“As part of my hoard, you would be under no obligation to perform for me,” Castiel reminds him, or maybe reminds himself. “In fact, undue pressure would be grounds for nullifying the contract.”

“No, I get that,” Dean says. “I read it.” He points at the display case. “I just really... Holy shit, Cas.”

Castiel allows Dean a few more moments to stare before quietly murmuring, “Would you like to continue the tour?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, we-”

“Or I can show you my movie setup,” Castiel continues. 

  


  


They watch the  _Dr. Sexy, M.D._  pilot in the most blissful surround round the world has ever heard, in perfect reclining chairs, complete with impossibly silent massage functions and heated seats. 

Dean could fucking  _cry_. 

  


  


After, it’s a lot less like a formal tour, and a lot more like being walked the long way home after a date. Definitely not the kind of treatment Dean usually gets, but absolutely the kind of treatment he wishes he could let himself get used to. 

Apparently warming up sufficiently to Dean, Castiel shows him the more private areas, venturing out of the hoard and into an actual home. They’re meandering through a large upstairs of reasonably sized rooms when Dean broaches the question. 

“So, up here,” he says. “This is where your staff lives?” 

Castiel nods. “They have the day off.”

“Yeah?”

“You asked to see my hoard. My staff is not part of my hoard.”

“Not even if they’re really good at their job?”

Castiel shakes his head and simply says, “Tradition.”

He leads Dean down another hall, this one more recently carpeted, the natural light stronger, the space itself warmer. “These are typically guest rooms for my brethren, but the guest suite would be yours.”

Inside, the suite matches the pictures Castiel had offered at their preliminary meeting. An excellent kitchen space, a lavish bathroom, a bright and spacious bedroom. 

“So I would live here,” Dean says, gesturing, “at least half the year?”

“One hundred eighty-eight days,” Castiel confirms. “They wouldn’t have to be consecutive, but this would be your primary address.”

“About the kitchen.”

“My dining room would be available to you,” Castiel quickly assures him, as if Dean needs reassuring. 

“No, I meant, you know. How do groceries get in here and all?”

Castiel blinks. “I’ll... check with my staff,” he says in the tone of someone who has never wondered about that. “Do you cook?”

Dean nods. “When I can.”

“I see.”

They stand there a moment longer, in the middle of what Dean’s certain will soon be his living room. 

“You won’t be able to host large gatherings, but you will be permitted guests,” Castiel says into the silence. 

“I read the contract,” Dean reminds him. “Crowley makes sure no one pulls a fast one on me, but I read it all too.”

Folding his hands behind his back, Castiel turns increasingly formal despite the hoodie and jeans; here is a man ending an interview, here is a man at the end of the date. “Do you have any questions for me?”

Dean looks around. 

He looks at Castiel. 

“Honestly?” Dean asks. 

Pupils again slitted in his marbled blue eyes, Castiel nods. 

“I still don’t see what you get out of it,” Dean says, even though he knows it puts him in a worse bargaining position. Crowley would have him milk this for everything it’s worth... and probably still will, honestly. The buzz around Dean belonging to a dragon for at least a year, that’s some publicity. Dean can foresee a future ahead with big dollar signs and a lot of co-stars sporting reptilian cock-extensions or dragon-inspired pegging gear. 

“The way I see it, you could snatch up a movie star,” Dean adds when Castiel’s only response is to glance down. “Maybe Gabriel’s making porn the fashion right now, but there’s no reason you couldn’t be a trend setter in another direction. You clearly love movies enough.”

With the fainted, sadly ironic smile touching his lips, Castiel replies, “I don’t set trends. And I...” He looks back up to Dean. Wets his lips with one edge of his forked tongue. “At the risk of saying too much, I admire your work.”

“You were at Gabriel’s party,” Dean surmises. “In your full form?” He thinks back on the dragons he’d seen there, but none leap out as a match to the person in front of him.

Castiel nods. “But that’s not what I mean. Although the stripping was very...” He clears his throat. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, somewhere between curious and afraid. 

“So much of porn is... derogatory,” Castiel replies, again looking away. “Insults, violence, humiliation.”

Dean’s done his fair share of that, on both sides, before rising to where he is now. 

“But you’re different,” Castiel continues. “Your sexual education videos, those were your idea, weren’t they?”

“The idea started as joke,” Dean says, the way he always does. “Just figured, if there can be a huge market for plumbers fucking horny moms, why not tap into the absurd number of people learning about sex from porn?” And if that lead to him giving head while his increasingly orgasmic costars stuttered through naming the parts of their privates Dean was currently tonguing, well, why not? 

“But you made them work,” Castiel continues. 

“Good co-stars,” Dean says, half as sincere praise, half to see what else Castiel will admit to watching.

“Even your solo instructional videos, Dean.”

...Just like that. Dean’s pretty sure he knows Castiel’s favorite, too, because it’s everyone’s favorite. Dean can give a very graphic, very technical walk-through of fingering his own ass open, it’s true, but what everyone loves is his critiquing of sex toys.

“So... you want to sponsor me to make more of them?” Dean asks. Because that hadn’t been in the contract at all. 

“What you pursue in your professional life is your own decision,” Castiel says, not quite furtive. 

“Then, you’re just gonna be my patron and I can be a little choosier about roles and directors,” Dean concludes. 

“Again, what you pursue professionally is your own decision.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean says. “But if I asked if you had any preferences...?”

“I’d... I would say I prefer the videos where you’re joyful.”

Dean pauses. 

Castiel glances directly at him, just for a second. Prudish guy, for someone sponsoring a porn star. 

“I think we should go talk to my lawyer now,” Dean says. 

Castiel looks at him directly, and his pupils are oval, fighting between slits of indifference and circles of intent. “You don’t need to see anything else?”

“I’ve met you,” Dean says, and now can mean it. “I think that’s enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, to see what else I'm working on, you can follow me on [tumblr here](http://bendingsignpost.tumblr.com/) or [dreamwidth here](http://https://bendingsignpost.dreamwidth.org/).


End file.
